The suggestion had shocked him. She could see it in his eyes, the restless movements of his hands. They twisted together, his thumbs straying unconsciously to brush against his wrists, his gaze sliding away from hers. “Uh, I don't think so."
She watched his face carefully as he spoke. She saw the spark of heat at the back of his vivid eyes, and she knew it was fear, not disinterest, that propelled his reluctance. “It might help.”
He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, looking more awkward than she’s seen him in a long time. Finally, he lifted his chin with a reluctant determination. “It doesn’t seem right. Asking you to do that.”
“I seem to remember this being my idea.” She reached out, encircling his wrists with her fingers. His skin was smooth and warm beneath her touch, but she knew it didn’t always feel like that to him. She knew there were times - in the middle of the night, in the darkness, when the dreams were most vivid - that he felt the sting of steel biting into his wrists. She knew there were still times when he still felt shackled, chained to the past, to the pain, to the faces of everyone they’d lost. Like tonight, when he’d woken her by thrashing in the bed beside her, his hands clenched into tight fists, his whole body rigid with horrified anticipation. “To be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to put up such a fight.”
They stared at each other for what felt like a very long time, then he smiled, the tension stiffening his jaw seeming to melt away. “Sex isn’t the answer to everything,” he finally said, his eyes glowing, and she wondered which one of them he was trying to convince.
“I know.” She was under no illusions that sex had the power to annihilate as well as rejuvenate, and that it would be incredibly dangerous to assume every single problem still wouldn’t be there once the sweat had dried from their bodies. She also knew that sex with this man was something beyond anything she’d ever experienced, something beyond the simple demands of the flesh. “You have to admit, though, it’s cheaper than therapy.”
He laughed quietly, and she felt the pulse beneath her fingertips quicken. “Well, you’re the doctor.”
“Damn straight,” she murmured, her gaze locking with his as she reached for the top drawer of the small table beside the bed. “And before you ask, yes, I have the keys.”
His laugh was faintly nervous this time, dying in his throat as she pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of his wrist, warming his skin with the heat of her mouth before letting him feel the cool metal of the handcuff. “Actually,” he muttered, his voice not quite steady, “I was going to ask when you picked up a pair of handcuffs.”
“Long story.” The sound of the lock snapping closed was loud in the quiet bedroom. “You okay?”
His throat working, he swallowed hard as he offered her his other wrist. “Yes.”
Gently pushing his arms above his head, she threaded the cuffs through the bars of the wrought iron bedhead, feeling the heat of his gaze as it roamed over her breasts and shoulders and belly. The sound of the second ratchet clicking into place was just as loud as the first, but she barely heard it over the rush of blood in her ears. Her knees sank into the mattress as she leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest as she touched her mouth to his. He’s already hard beneath her, the rigid length of his erection pressed against the growing ache between her legs, and she wanted him so much she could barely form the words to speak. “Good,” she whispers, then she arched her back and took him inside her, a slow, thick slide of flesh and heat.
“Jesus.” His groan of pleasure rose up around them, echoing the muted gasp caught at the back of her throat, his thighs strained and trembling beneath her, her hands flat on his heaving chest. The sound of metal scraping against metal mingled with the harshness of their breathing, the frantic slap of flesh against flesh, the muttered struggle to hold back the inevitable capitulation.
She had wanted this for him, just for him, but when he lifted his head to her breasts, his mouth closing hotly over her, she knew it was for her, too. Heat ripped through her from breast to groin, filling every single empty space in between, and she was lost, shuddering above him, against him, her hands gripping his tensed biceps as she rode out the shockwaves of her release even as he began to arch beneath her. She twisted with him as he came, rocking against him hard and deep and fast, pushing him as far as he wanted to go, then pushing him a little further.
Boneless and damp with sweat, she managed to find the presence of mind to reach for the handcuff keys, releasing his wrists from their imprisonment with shaking hands. Dropping both keys and cuffs onto the rumpled bedclothes, she slumped beside him, one arm flung careless over his hip, her face buried against his shoulder. “That was different,” she whispered, tasting the salt of his skin with the tip of her tongue. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Stupid question, she knew, but she didn’t want to take anything for granted.
“Hmmm.” His reply rumbled deep in her chest as she felt the slide of his hand over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm. Her eyes fluttered shut in pleasure at his touch, flying open almost immediately at the feel of cool metal around her left wrist. She stared up at him, her pulse spiking anew at the determined gleam in his eyes.
He smiled. “Your turn.”